


Brothers-in-Arms

by VaguelyDownwards



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Psychological Trauma, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VaguelyDownwards/pseuds/VaguelyDownwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While fighting for the Allies, the Spine is fitted with an enormous experimental set of wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers-in-Arms

They creaked and fluttered in the wind, lazily half-folded on either side. They were experimental, still in the testing phase, but then again, everything was.  
  
In the safety of the San Diego home, these moods usually found him skulking about the Hall of Wires, communing with his fellow machines. Here, there were no such comforts, and the men had learned to look for him on top of the tallest structure in sight.  
  
Under better circumstances, it would’ve been a nice day. Spring was just blossoming into summer, warm but not hot, the sun a perfect white circle in a cloudless sky. The streets were empty, as well they should be. He hoped it was because the people were inside, and not because there were no people left. Nothing was scheduled for that day, but that didn’t mean nothing would happen. War didn’t abide by schedules.  
  
Standing, stretching, wind caught canvas with a sharp snap, and he strained to hold the wings open their full span. They were truly enormous when unfurled, and the red and black pattern was eye-catching, but he was heavier than most humans, and polished steel was hardly inconspicuous already. He was the designated test subject for this particular upgrade; they would never be modified for human use, power being the constant problem, but like everything else he wielded, they were easily routed into his blue matter core. Sometimes, he could feel the blue matter lancing through the steel struts, a bright flash as he pushed himself, the sensation of air rushing past his wingtips, the closest to alive he would ever be.  
  
He was a dark, silent shape over the battlefield; in the night, he was no more than a gleam of silver and glowing green eyes. The engineers were already calling the wings a success, and strategists were excitedly drafting bold new plans to send the three of them into battle in new and inventive ways. Best of luck to them. Rabbit and the Jon had been measured for their own sets, preliminary structures bolted onto their chassis, but the wings, whenever they arrived, wouldn’t be compatible. The Spine did more than perch on top of tall buildings and brood.  
  
He launched himself from the rooftop with a superhuman jump, wings flaring wide like a dazzling hooded cobra. He sailed over the broken city, too high to be identified as more than a bird, and hoped that he wouldn’t regret what he saw. Or heard. When they had first arrived in France, they had been programmed with every language spoken in Europe. It only made sense. They were more useful when they didn’t need translators to speak to refugees or to interrogate enemy prisoners. That had lasted for about a week on the front lines. He wasn’t as brilliant as his creator or any of his caretakers back home, but he knew enough to disable the language centers on his brothers at night. Walter could fix them when the war was over. He only hoped they would forgive him. The Jon had remained in stasis throughout the procedure, blue eyes glowing only dimly, but Rabbit, poor, broken Rabbit had been awake. The Spine suspected he never allowed himself stasis anymore. It had little effect; the Spine was larger and stronger. Sometimes when he left the base, it was because when Rabbit looked at him, he still saw the wide-eyed look of betrayal on his soot-streaked face as words failed him.  
  
It was for the best, though. He envied them, for the procedure he could not perform on himself. He still comprehended everything, voices that carried from miles away and over encrypted radio frequencies. You didn’t have to be a linguistics prodigy to know when a child cried for help, but he knew why she was crying. He knew why her father wasn’t crying anymore. Perhaps Walter could take the memory from him when they returned. He knew their memories were malleable, but he’d never taken advantage of that feature before. Until now, he’d considered it a vulnerability. Maybe it was a blessing to forget. Then again, some things shouldn’t be forgotten.  
  
He circled back to the base, comforted that the streets held neither friend nor foe, whole or broken. As he neared the swarming knot of men in uniform, he easily picked out two humanoid shapes that shone copper and gold. Like him, they wore their inhumanity proudly today, naked metal gleaming, bright easy targets to distract from the soft flesh bodies they defended. He broke into a dive and pretended he could feel the air flowing over silver skin. Sensors registered height, wind speed, barometric pressure. He braked at the last minute, wing-struts protesting noisily against the strain, and landed with a metallic thud and a cloud of dust. The other soldiers warily kept their distance as the Jon and Rabbit came forward to greet him wordlessly. It was hard to avoid a certain degree of symbolism as a humanoid with an impressive wingspan, but he didn’t if the other soldiers saw him as angel or demon. Either way was fine by him— neither were men, and as long as he was some alien other, they wouldn’t form attachments. Friendship cut both ways, and he didn’t have the advantage of voicelessness.  
  
He spread his wings wide so that they arched protectively over the figures on either side of him, his brothers, his fellow automatons. They were his and nobody else’s, as he was theirs. And they were not the most inhuman thing to be found on the battlefield.


End file.
